


Good Things Come In Trees

by CravenWyvern



Series: Previously Punned [3]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Kind of AU, Main Character Has Issues, Mentions of Maxwell, Panic/Anxiety Attack, Wilson Doesn't Remember Any Curse Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Wilson P. Higgsbury wakes up anxious and eventually distracts himself trying to think of a cuss word.





	

Wilson was fine. Very, very fine. 

It was a good day, clear weather, quiet atmosphere. His camp was good, his food supply was okay, his inventions were fine, even the damn bird was doing alright, its voice piercing and loud in the morning and ringing in his head. Nothing had happened yesterday, it had been actually a very calming week, he'd been taking it slow ever since that last hound attack because good god, had they been terrifying this time around (and why was that, nothing about them was different, they were as normal as a canine could get in this world), and yes, maybe he hadn't been sleeping as much, more often than naught staring at the fire and throwing more bits of fuel into it than was necessary, wasting supplies, watching as the flames got higher and higher and higher-

And maybe he was just anxious, a little nervous, because it was rather calm and that was unusual, it should never actually be calm here, there was always something up, something to stir up this quiet week, either by the worlds own natural cycle or because the one in charge didn’t like him that much, and that was okay, he could handle himself, when was the last time he had actually died from something-

And oh, was that the root of the problem? Because that would make sense, wouldn't it, would be the thing that was making him pace, back and forth, back and forth, the morning dragging on and on as he wrung his hands to ease the aching in his arms. They were sore, warm and bothering him, the damnable things, tensed and out of joint, only easing up for a moment when he applied pressure, twisting his skin and lessening the uncomfortable feeling-

And he could feel something watching him, some presence that hung like a cloud over his camp, and Wilson was sure it was not the bird, because the bird had a different feel to it and already watched him constantly, it wasn’t anything new to be stared at by the avian, no matter how dark its beady eyes were or how its aloof attitude rubbed him the wrong way, the dull creature only left alive because it laid eggs, and even then he still wanted to stalk over and wring its skinny little neck-

Wilson knew he shouldn't get so aggressive with it, it was a dumb beast, it did not have human intellect, he literally should not get so ramped up by its presence, wasn’t he enjoying its company only a few days ago-

Oh, he had to do something, anything at all, get his hands moving and brain focused again, because here he was wasting a whole day, spinning himself into circles and finding excuses, when who knew when winter was coming, he sure didn't, he had nothing to tell him, warn him of fluctuations in weather and temperature and humidity and-

And oh, he didn't want to leave camp, not now, a heightened pressure on his head, a headache and that would explain a few things too, silly him, he just was not sleeping well enough and what did sleep exhaustion do, did anyone know? Not him, but obviously not sleeping had to be doing something to him, a negative impact on his behavior, that was clear, crystal clear, and he should catch up on that, fix that problem before it got worse, but he really, really didn't want to go to sleep anymore-

He was slowly dying in his sleep, wasting his life for a few hours and he had other things to do, he couldn't be unconscious for an unknown amount of time, things might happen, terrible things, and Wilson had to be aware of them, couldn't close his eyes for a moment-

A quick turn in his pacing suddenly rocked him back, thoughts dissipating and face pulling into a pained frown as nausea hit him. He was getting light headed, dizzy and weak, because again, he hadn't eaten today, didn't want to, even with the burning in his stomach and the awful loss off strength he was experiencing, because it really didn’t matter. He didn’t want to stuff anything down his throat, the thought repulsed him and made the wave of pain worse, and he had to sit down, right then, or else he'd vomit and that never was good, he hated that, hated how that felt and-

At least he had placed his camp on grass this time, instead of rock or stone or the like. Wilson laid there a moment, curled up and buzzing with thoughts that twisted up and up and up, at least until the wave seemed to end. And then he was up again, hands tightening on his arms because they hurt, wanting to twist the bones for some sort of relief, feeling hot and shivery, and maybe he was just ill, caught something in the rain some time ago, it waiting until he was compromised and then digging in, and he'd just have to tough it out, like he usually did, he had very little experience when it came to medicine-

And it was agitating, this movement, back and forth, back and forth, he wanted to do something else, move around differently, but he didn’t know which way he could go or where and why, because he didn't want to leave the semi safety of camp, couldn’t leave it because he might lose everything if he took an eye off of it for just a second-

It was starting to grate on him, this soreness and humidity and the damn birds shrill calls, and it wasn’t going away, hanging over him, and he could almost feel as if he had a second skin, a doppelganger roaming just a few inches to the left or right of him, just a tad slower or faster and he couldn’t see it, obviously not, it was not real, but it was just as irritated, just as manic and paranoid as him and-

And Wilson was not manic or paranoid. He couldn’t be, because there was no reason for it, of course not, that was silly, nothing was happening to make him feel this way, it was just a calm morning and normal day, nothing was wrong, he was fine, he was sure he was fine-

And he wanted to scream, because it hung over him, humid and wet and tight on his skin, and he couldn’t do anything about it, nothing rational was coming to mind, though of course his brain was giving worse ways, unhelpful and dangerous, and no he didn’t want to do that, that would hurt and even if it solved the problem it would come back, cling to him and hook on and not ever leave him alone-

And it wasn’t real, he had already tried, his hands couldn't scratch the damn thing off, the stinging was a reminder, he remembered that with sudden clarity, and no, today was not the day for regaining repressed memories, that would make this nice day very unhappy, because some of the things he pushed away were not exactly things he wanted to remember and so what if some included time from before here, obviously he wanted to forget certain things, and that was alright, because he had no say in what his subconscious did anyway. It wouldn’t truly matter if he did know or not, because he'd still have to gather food and make cloths and create unnecessary and complicated devices that nobody but himself would ever use or even see-

Well, besides the one in charge, but he didn’t matter, he didn’t care anyway, he was the whole reason Wilson was here in the first place, and Wilson couldn’t even think of a word to describe him, some curse or other perhaps, he really should have paid attention back then to what words came out of peoples mouths when expressing emotion, because now he was blank out of words to use to express what he thought of the person who had kidnapped him-

For a moment he was distracted, halting and trying to shift words around in his head, because he had to have something in there, picked up something somewhere…

Would ‘nerd’ work? He remembered being called that at some point in his life, but by who he couldn't remember at all, but obviously it was a name of some sort and was used frequently as a stab at someone's feelings. Was ‘nerd’ something he could use then, enough to express his agitation? 

Maybe. He'll have to think about it, because that was such a long time ago and he couldn’t even remember what the word actually meant, though it must have been derogatory in some way because he acutely remembered not liking being called that, some semblance of remembered emotion that made him feel…very not good.

The birds cries startled him, loud and piercing and panicked, and Wilson turned around intending to give it a piece of his mind because he was actually thinking of something important for once-

And then he actually saw what was distressing it, a towering creature with heavy thudding foot steps and how in the world had he missed that-

He must have fallen, trying to look all the way up to see its face, or at least the tallest aspect of it, and the thing let out a groaning call, loud and echoed and deep, and it shook for a moment, pine leaves and pine cones falling to the ground from its massive body. Its next step was huge and shook the ground, close enough to startle him up to his feet and for a second he feared it being hostile, of it wanting to crush his camp and his bird and him with it all in one go, but it didn't. Instead, its feet crashed down and away, towards the rest of the forest, a huge, lumbering tree that moaned and groaned and left a trail of pinecones and piles of leaves and branches in its wake.

The silence afterwards was deafening, the bird quiet and already back to preening its shiny feathers, and Wilson stood there for awhile, a little lost for a moment.

And then he started moving, packing his backpack and getting ready for the rest of the day, because how in the word did he actually miss the entire morning, he must have been very lost in thought to waste such a large amount of time-

And the stinging in his arms only distracted him for a moment (shouldn’t have done that, it'll hurt for awhile, need to have better control) and then Wilson was off, to gather supplies to have more food and build bigger and better things and to also find a bunch of seeds to feed his bird.

The little thing seemed a little peckish as of late, captivity not serving it well. Poor thing.


End file.
